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by malekin



Series: Destiel Drabbles [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:47:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1906479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malekin/pseuds/malekin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short Destiel drabble. Demon!Dean</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

Lips chapped and worn molded to his own, all teeth and tongues and delicious heat that spread throughout his body, settling in the base of his spine. His hips moved forward, looking for purchase, and he growled at the amount of clothes between him and what he wanted most.

Dean’s fingers moved to the trench coat, pushing Cas away slightly.

"This needs to go." he spat out in between heavy breaths.

Blue eyes met black and there was the tiniest nod before Cas’ hands were on his own leather jacket, pushing it down his shoulders, taking his plaid over shirt with it. He moved to his own coat while Dean made short work of Cas’ tie and the buttons on his shirt. 

Dean spread his hands underneath the now opened shirt and slid it off his shoulders. It made a soft sound when it landed on the floor. His senses so heightened he could hear the buzz of the streetlight three blocks away. Cas was working his fingers beneath Dean’s undershirt, distracting him from the buzzing and refocusing him with the feeling of Cas’ hands sliding up his side, his arms lifted over his head and allowed the shirt to be tugged over and tossed aside.

Fingers paused over the scarred remains of his anti-possession tattoo, the blue fire in Cas’ eyes dimmed slightly. Dean grabbed his wrist, pulling their bodies flush, and they both groaned at the skin to skin contact.

"None of that, not now. It’s over, this is real, that’s a memory." Dean’s gruff voice was beautiful in his ear, despite the warning it held.

Fingers skimmed Dean’s collarbones and the feeling sizzled along his skin, drawing a gasp. They continued their journey over his shoulders, dancing lightly over the top of his spine before sliding down and across, settling on his shoulder blades with more pressure.

Dean wondered if Cas was as aware of his form as he was of Cas’. He mimiced the movement, letting his sense go a bit, enough to almost feel those wings, never fully, not on this plane, but the impression was there. 

That they were both touching each other, and not just meat suits but almost touching their actual selves was enthralling.

Dean moaned, bringing his mouth back to Cas’ and maneuvered a thigh between his legs. Forcing contact. Jean against cloth, iron grinding against steel and for a moment Dean was lost in the sensations. Heat, and sweat and sex, the crashing sound of rubbing fabric and Cas’ low moan. 

He closed his eyes and gave in to the red throbbing light, letting free again the feeling that had been there since he’d taken the blade, dancing and singing it’s way through his blood stream. Violence and madness, power and the urge to rip and tear, to burrow himself so fully inside this piece of quivering meat he held in his hands. 

Hands moved that were cool against the fire of his skin. Leaving trails of something that felt like a vague memory and tugged on that piece of himself that he kept locked down. They settled, one at the base of his neck, the other flat against the ruined tattoo.

"Peace brother," Cas’ voice sighed against his mouth, "Your burdens are mine, as you are mine."

Dean sucked in a harsh breath, felt the blackness receding back to it’s cage with such a force it left him sagging. Blue eyes met green and Cas took advantage of his surprise, turning them and pushing Dean back against the mattress.

Cas started at his collarbone. He swore a litany of apologies, carefully and painstakingly written out on his skin with a hot, wet tongue that made him shiver. Teeth grazed for emphasis, nipping where they could take hold. He was tearing him down, destroying Dean with every newly discovered patch of skin covered nerves. Promises dripped from Cas’ finger tips, tips that danced above his ribs, branding him with a language that was so wholly his.

He was home.


End file.
